


All Ten Seconds

by Jacob_M_Bosch



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacob_M_Bosch/pseuds/Jacob_M_Bosch
Summary: Felix Gaeta died as he lived: curious, and unable to interact with people as well as he does with numbers.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	All Ten Seconds

**Author's Note:**

> I had to write this after I read Broken Hallelujah, by pamy. I was so angry--I still am angry--that I knew I wouldn't able to leave a comment without my anger spilling out all over the place. It's a good story, but I actually hate it.

Felix rises to his feet, his knees and back screaming. It’s difficult steadying his body while his hands are bound, so he wobbles some. He laughed softly to himself. 

He was embarrassed that he couldn’t maintain his balance. He was being ridiculous. None of the people watching him were likely to think less of him because of his clumsiness. 

He flexed his fingers; they felt swollen and hot. There was little circulation reaching his digits. He clenched them tight for a few moments, and the nylon rope around his wrists dug into his skin. When he unfurled his hands, his fingers felt lighter and cooler almost instantly.

It’s a relief.

He makes sure he can walk without falling to the bulkhead before taking a cautious step forward. The lighting in the launch tube is dramatic. It's almost as if a spotlight is on him every other step. Felix looked up at the light fixtures above him, and wondered if it was coincidence. He then looked around and saw his captors stare at him from behind a sheet of reinforced Acrylic glass. Felix realized it wasn't a coincidence, they wanted this moment to be as melodramatic as possible. It almost makes Felix chortle. He doesn’t, of course. That would be unseemly.

He looked away and moved closer to the airlock. 

He wanted his uniform. If he could have worn his uniform this would not hurt as much. He’d worn the same uniform, or some variation of it, since he exited the Academy and took his first assignment on the Valkyrie where he served under Bill Adama. He really didn't like to wear anything else. Nothing else he wore had ever fit so well, or felt so right.

Felix stopped six feet from the airlock. He didn’t want to be knocked unconscious when the doors unsealed. The tube would depressurize and blow him out into space quickly, and if he was too close when that happened he could hit one of the doors before they fully opened. Felix decided he wanted to be aware after he was expelled from the Galactica.

Expelled. Flushed might be a more appropriate term for what was about to happen to him. Crass, but certainly applicable.

On his first day at the Academy Felix learned about what happens to the human body when it’s exposed to the vacuum of space. There were few first-hand accounts recorded about the experience, but those that existed each correlated to what was scientifically theorized to happen. 

It was true that expelling gases from the lungs can prolong life up to ten seconds, and Felix debated if he wanted to do that. Dying quickly may be the best option, because all the accounts also mention some level of discomfort. 

No. Felix wasn’t afraid of discomfort or pain. 

He was a curious man by nature, and he often wondered what space would feel like against his skin. Would it burn? Would it feel cold? Both, perhaps? Felix hoped when he found out he would be cognizant enough to understand what was happening to him in those last moments of his life. 

The very last opportunity he would ever have to learn something new.

A voice comes over the comms. It’s Chief Tyrol. His voice sounds different over the comm. Tyrol didn’t sound as angry as some of the others: Tigh, or the man Charlie Conner. Nor does he sound as cold as Seelix and Barolay, who from the beginning made their conviction of Felix sound clinical and necessary. Tyrol’s tone certainly does not mirror the rage of Starbuck’s.

“Do you have any last words before your sentence is carried out?”

Felix almost feels compelled to say something pithy, or profound. He always wanted to be better at expressing himself in a way that stirred those around him. But he’s not that kind of man. Never was, and now never will be.

Then Felix remembers something. And it’s very important—important enough that it upsets his plan to die quietly with dignity. He cranes his head around and looks at the men and women behind the glass.

“If you get the chance, there’s a medium error code in the navigation’s processing core. It’s not serious right now, but it needs to be re-coded fairly soon, or jump coordinates could be affected.” Felix paused. “Tell Hoshi. We discussed it some, so he should have a good handle on how to fix it.”

Felix faced the airlock again and waited.

“You frakking bastard!” Conner screamed over the comm. “Is that all you have to say?”

Felix nearly shrugged, but that would be flip. If he was going to be funny, he preferred to be dry; maybe a bit sarcastic. He liked being the kind of glib that isn't immediately apparent, and could go unnoticed altogether. A talent he cultivated serving under Tigh. 

“What else is left to say? Get on with it.”

Felix tried to imitate Adama with that last part. If he couldn’t express himself in his own words, might as well use The Old Man’s. Felix hoped he got the world-weariness right. 

The blast doors opened and Felix didn’t resist the push. He was carried out so quickly with the atmosphere he didn’t realize he was outside the Galactica the first few seconds after the dark embraced him.

Felix didn’t hold his breath—he wanted all ten of those seconds.

Space was cold…

Felix inhaled once...

Space smelled like ozone, and a bit metallic...

Interesting...


End file.
